The Stolen Blooms
by terrified
Summary: A two-part story. Sherlock finally decides to articulate his affection for a certain pathologist by unconventionally taking a conventional approach to inviting her out to dinner.
1. The Stolen Blooms

_**A/N: **BC + his mummy + flowers = This. __It's fun, a little bit silly and sort of fluffy. __I mean, why not, right? x_

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**The Stolen Blooms**

"Well, this really is a surprise," Mrs Holmes exclaimed with delight. The brooding detective she called her son merely mumbled in response and hopped into the car with her. Mycroft had ordered the car, of course. Though his parents joined the ranks of goldfish, they were goldfish he preferred to keep safe.

When they arrived, the Holmes mother was all smiles, walking through the aisles of ravishing flower blooms, perfectly sculpted gardens, magnificent topiaries and other wondrous sights at the Royal Horticultural Society's annual flower show.

"Why did you want to come, Sherlock?" she asked, turning to her son. "You hate these events."  
"A case…" he muttered, his eyes studying every bloom he came across.  
"Whatever it is, it's nice to have you here," she said, patting him affectionately on the shoulder.

As she carried on admiring the sights around her, Sherlock would occasionally drift from her side, inspecting other sections or other aisles of what were really the best botanical specimens he had ever set eyes on. It was the Royal Horticultural Society after all.

When she realised he had been away for sometime, she looked up from a dazzling bed of coral geraniums, scanning the area for her son. To her horror, she found him picking at select flowers, collecting what were clearly the best blooms on display.

"Sherlock!" she whispered fiercely as she rushed to his side.  
"Mm? he answered, not bothering to turn around as he carefully clipped the stalk of the society's 'Plant of the Year'. It was a stunning double-flowered hydrangea, its pale petals framed with a vibrant edge of pink.  
"You can't go around picking the flowers like that!" she uttered in horror, "This isn't a florists'!"  
"Of course it isn't a florists'," he replied, scoffing, "It's precisely because it's not some silly shop down the corner of the street that I'm here."

Leaving his mother gobsmacked and rooted to the spot in wide-eyed confusion, he proceeded to roam the rest of the halls, collecting the best and loveliest blooms he decided were good enough for him.

That very evening, after a long day at the flower show and enduring a long car ride with his mother who berated him, Sherlock was finally back at 221B. After a quick check on the internet, and together with the procurement he made of some lovely Japanese paper en route home, he organised his day's floral pickpocketing into a most impressive-looking bouquet.

When he heard footsteps, he smiled to himself and picked the bouquet up, ready to receive his visitor.

"You wanted to see me?" came the cheerful voice of Molly, who stood at his doorway.  
"Yes," he said, stepping towards her.

Sherlock whipped the bouquet out from behind his back and shoved it right in Molly's face. It was larger than her head and more colourful than her jumper, but it was the most beautiful thing Molly had ever seen.

"What's this?" she asked, smiling, gingerly receiving the bouquet which quite literally contained a flower of every size, shape and shade.  
"The best flowers in England." he said proudly.  
"They are…absolutely stunning, Sherlock," Molly remarked, studying the flowers, "I don't think I've ever seen that shade of blue in my life."  
"I hope they are favourable?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.  
"Of course," she said with a nod, "They're gorgeous."  
"Excellent" he said with a satisfied nod of his own.  
"Where did you get them? It is a most remarkable bouquet, you know…"

Molly smiled to herself as she gently touched some of the petals. They really were quite a sight and she had no idea such flowers even existed before.

"From the RHS," he answered, point-blank.  
"I didn't know they sold flowers…" Molly said, confused.  
"Oh, no. I took them from their flower show."  
"You mean, you _stole_ them from their display at the flower show?" Molly corrected him, horrified.  
"Well, just one or two from each exhibit, they wouldn't notice," he replied with a shrug.

Shaking her head, Molly laughed and decided not to press the issue. Of course, he would do something like that. The question was, why?

"So, why the flowers?" she asked, eyeing him warily. "Is this about the bodies you wanted from that accident at the chemical plant? Because those bodies are_quarantined_ and there is _no_ way I'm going to…"

The detective laughed, interrupting her little spiel about hospital policy and endangering the country.

"What?" she asked.  
"I've been informed that flowers are a…universally acceptable gesture," he said, matter-of-factly.  
"A gesture of…what?" she asked, continuing to stare at him warily.  
"Of…um…" he suddenly found his mind short-circuiting as he struggled to articulate himself.

It was Molly's turn to laugh as she observed the detective who shifted about uneasily.

"Affection," he muttered, blinking nervously.  
"Oh," Molly exclaimed, startled. "Really?"  
"Y-es." he said, dragging the word out.  
"Okay…" she said, nodding blankly. His words had been rather unexpected.

Sherlock eyed her warily, carefully studying her expression. She was silent, which unnerved him slightly. He could tell she was smiling behind the blooms as she kept her gaze low.

"So?" he asked, suddenly.  
"So…what?" she asked back, frowning.  
"Have you decided on what you'd like for dinner?"  
"Dinner?"  
"Well, yes, naturally," he said, "I've just expressed my affection for you via the medium of flowers, so now, we go to dinner."  
"I…I'm not dressed for dinner, Sherlock," Molly remarked, amused by his train of thought.  
"You're dressed. I think that's sufficient,." he replied.  
"No, no, I mean…" she chuckled quietly, "I mean, I'm in this ratty jumper and my slacks have a bleach mark from spilling chlorine on my lap."  
"That can be addressed fairly easily," he said, reaching for his mobile phone, "There are some shops where there are restaurants.."  
"Sherlock, we are not pick-pocketing an outfit from Debenhams just to go have dinner," she said with a laugh.

He smiled and could not help but laugh with her.

"What do you suggest then?" he asked, returning his mobile phone to his pocket.  
"I can always go home, change and meet you where you'd like me to meet you," she said, looking up at him.  
"Sounds logical," he said, nodding.  
"And also a lot more _legal_," Molly remarked with a smirk.

The pair laughed again as they stood at his doorway, with only the large bouquet between them.

"You know, Sherlock, you could have just gone to the florists' if you wanted to get flowers." Molly said plainly.  
"Nonsense." he muttered. "It'd be like walking into Bart's and saying, _hello, I'll just work with any of your pathologists, please_…"  
"Oh, Sherlock," Molly said, shaking her head, chuckling. "It's fine."  
"No, it isn't." he said quietly. "The best flowers, for the best woman I know."

Again, his words were unexpected, and come from an unexpectedly sentimental place. Molly was surprised, in the most delightful way.

"You sure this isn't for the quarantined bodies?" she asked him.  
"It wouldn't hurt if you'd grant me access to them…" he answered, with a cheeky smirk, "But no, Molly, it isn't that."

It took a lot of faith for Molly to take him at his word, but Molly did. She went home, changed into a simple frock, and met him at a restaurant they both agreed on. Their dinner went well for it had been lovely and surprisingly normal. By the end of the evening, Molly's bouquet of stolen blooms sat grandly in a vase on her dining table. She could see it from her sitting room where she sat on the sofa with a glass of red wine in one hand, and the hand of the handsomest thief she knew in the other.

**END**


	2. Epilogue: Perennial

**Epilogue: **_Perennial_

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Molly wondered where he had gone when she saw a note to say that he had gone to meet his mother. Had something happened? Molly texted Mycroft who had replied to say that both parents were well. Relieved, she slipped on her robe and just lazed about the flat. She read some books in their bed, watched telly in the living room, and casually made notes on the jar of mould he was cultivating in their kitchen.

After what seemed like hours, she was awoken from her nap by the sound of the door opening. When she bolted out of their bedroom, she saw Sherlock, standing at the doorway, with a bouquet in his hands.

"Spectacular blooms this year," he said, handing her the flowers he had arranged himself. "Plant of the Year is that one, _Streptocarpus_, or the 'Nodding Violet'_._" he said, pointing to the lush, wine-coloured blooms in the middle.  
"How did they not catch you this time?" she remarked with a laugh, "The poor RHS…"

Sherlock took a step forward and tucked a few stray wisps of Molly's hair behind her ear. He then bent to kiss her gently on the cheek.

"It's been a wonderful year," he whispered.  
"It has." Molly replied.  
"Happy anniversary, Molly Hooper." he said, before removing the bouquet from her hands, and taking her into his arms.

**END**


End file.
